


better than nothing

by tajemnica



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Brother/Brother Incest, Humiliation, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Twincest, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tajemnica/pseuds/tajemnica
Summary: atsumu wants to get fucked. osamu would rather fuck with his head.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu
Comments: 30
Kudos: 156





	better than nothing

**Author's Note:**

> back when i hit 100 twitter followers, i wrote a quick, smutty little thread. i finally just got around to turning it into a whole fic. it's literally just porn—enjoy.

tsumu usually takes the lead these days. he’s got that pro-athlete lifestyle—he’s stronger, even though rice-sack-slingin’ samu hates to admit it. his brother’s just a little softer, a little lazier, a little more likely to wanna lie back and whine all pretty about it than be the one doing all the hard work. 

so yeah, tsumu usually takes heads over tails, folds his brother in half and goes to town… but that doesn’t mean that sometimes he doesn’t want it the other way. just like when they were kids. 

the bitch of it is, as reluctant as atsumu is to ask for it—and it’s a blue fucking moon when he’s actually willing to beg—samu’s even worse about giving it to him. 

the more tsumu’s aching for it, craving that thick cock, enough like his own to lull him into a false sense of competence at his mindreading skills, but still different enough to feel hot and foreign, deep inside where fingers just can’t reach… the more tsumu just wants to get fucked, the more fun osamu has making him suffer.

he can beg. he can be patient. he can crawl on his knees and elbows across the bed like samu likes to see him do, ass-up and back kinked just to make him feel a little sorrier for himself, a little more desperate to get touched. even though half the time the team trainer gives him shit for his aching lower back, he’ll do it, tip his hips just right to look extra inviting, so when samu takes pity on him, he might actually aim for the bull’s eye for once.

osamu likes to make him wait, likes to make him think begging is gonna get him what he’s after, likes to keep him guessing what the magic word will be. like there’s gonna be some secret signal that’ll unlock the sex he wants, let him get choosy whenever he decides he wants it… but it’s easy to keep atsumu in his place when he’s like this, even as he halfway caves in on his unspoken (but plainly fucking obvious) demands.

tsumu’s shaking with the effort of keeping his exaggerated position just so: his seductively buckling back, his splayed-out knees, the hip adductor workout of not letting them slide all the way out—as nice as even one cool, dry brush of the crumpled bedsheets against the underside of his neglected dick might be—while osamu pets him, soft, light little strokes along his skin, playing and twirling his fingers into the black hair atsumu hasn’t had reason enough (read: somebody new enough) to get waxed in ages. 

as long as atsumu’s been sticking his big tongue in peoples’ holes and getting his own ass eaten in return (a long fucking time), you’d think he’d have learned how to skip that first frantic zing of hygiene panic, but it’s still ticklish and humiliating, all the staring and the delicate petting. there’s probably something profound and psychological about how the shame’s what makes it so good, right? 

samu’s fingers flutter down across the ridge of his taint, pinching at the soft fragile skin of his balls until he grabs a pube or two at random and yanks ‘em right out with a sharp enough sting to make asumu’s eyes water. 

“not worth shavin’ for anymore, am i, ya overgrown twink?”

tsumu stops himself from saying anything back, knows it’s a trap to get him to get embarrassed and defensive, and if it were anybody else, it might work, but he can only bear the mocking inspection so goddamn long because it’s osamu, because they’ve been sharing the filthy ins and outs of their bodies with one another sexually and otherwise as long as they can possibly remember. 

which is why, when he finally feels those infuriating, simpering caresses swap out for the squishy wet of osamu’s hot mouth, tsumu doesn’t waste another second thinking, ready and willing to melt immediately under his brother’s touch.

too bad samu’s decided to be a dick about it, though.

atsumu wriggles against him, but osamu won’t give him anything, won’t point his tongue and drive it home—won’t let atsumu fuck back against his face and do it himsef, either. he just offers a drizzle of sloppy little laps and licks, all soft impotent sensation with no _oomph._ “c’mon,” atsumu groans under his breath, “please, c’mon, fuck...” 

“hmm?” samu takes his face back, spit-shiny from nose to chin. he wipes his mouth. “you were sayin’?” 

atsumu still hopes, a little. he knows the whiny sound slipping out of his mouth isn’t gonna help his case, but he can’t stop it, either, just tries to swallow it back down as osamu finally deigns to slide his slick fingers across the crybaby clench of atsumu’s asshole, back and forth, over and over again, so light he wouldn’t leave a fingerprint. 

“d’you really think i’m gonna fuck you, just ‘cause ya want me to?” 

atsumu’s finally starting to get the picture, starting to feel the cringing disappointment in his gut that comes from the degradation of begging, crawling, crying—of asking for it and saying please and still not getting what he wants. 

atsumu hiccups a sob into the mattress when osamu pulls away entirely to watch the continuous drool of precome dangling from tsumu’s neglected cock. so samu likes him pathetic (and oh, right now, he’s _pathetic)_ but still doesn’t wanna fuck him… just blows cool air across his junk, showing him exactly how much nothing he’s gonna get. 

by now tsumu’s figured out he’s got nothing to lose from whining, so he lets himself do it, lets a few heartbreaking whimpers squeak out, just to highlight how hard all his muscles are shaking from faking the porn-star arch of his spine, from trying to stay frozen like a pretty statue but still leave his body relaxed enough to gather up any and every tiny ounce of pleasure samu’s got the halfhearted decency to slip him. 

he’s getting fucked, alright—fucked _over,_ fucked _with,_ but he knows how to make do. atsumu’s got plenty of practice in taking anything his brother is willing to give him and turning it into whatever kind of miserable, cringing orgasm he can cobble together out of tablescraps.

osamu continues his teasing, for his own amusement; atsumu’s goalposts shift. he’d wanted to get slammed down, split open—wanted to have to beg osamu to stop. now he’s hoping for anything. a finger or two. god, he’d kill for even a little tongue pressure. he can get there by himself if he has to, trying to find his way through sheer force of will and clenching muscles, eyes squeezed shut, panting wetly into the sheets, feeling for it. he won’t stoop to using his hands because if he’d wanted to jerk himself off, he never would’ve fucking lowered himself to this point in the first place. would’ve just watched some fucked up hentai and gotten it over with, gotten on with his day.

it’s like samu was waiting for him to give up—not that he gives him much. a fingernail. a fingertip. millimeters. but _god_ it’s better than nothing. atsumu lets himself believe in the promise of that first breach, hips jerking involuntarily, trying to rock back against—

samu pulls his hand away, watching him twitch. _“please,”_ atsumu tries again, breathless— “samu, goddammit, you gotta give me _something,_ i’m...”

samu presses his fingertip against atsumu’s rim again, taps right on it. “i gotta, huh?”

tsumu shuts up real quick, ready to do anything just to get that fingertip back. he’s so desperate to be filled that it’s better than nothing. he’s a wreck. he’d kill for it. his eyes won’t stop watering.

samu gives it back to him, just to the nailbed. he’s so happy he feels like he could cry, if he weren’t already. now, if samu would just… if he could get to that first knuckle. something to clench around. if he could get that much, atsumu thinks he could come. he could make himself, if he could get that much. it’s better than nothing, but when his hips twitch back again—it’s not even _his_ _fault_ —samu pulls away again, too.

he cries out, stupid and inconsolable, wretched body humping at nothing without his permission, and samu lets out a low whistle like he’s seeing something beautiful.

all it takes to push atsumu over the edge is one slicked up finger, slicing through him, all the way in _(all the way in,_ like that’s something to be proud of). it’s a far fucking cry from a fat cock, but he knows when he’s lost, he knows when it’s as good as he’s gonna get, he knows how to make do and he knows how to make himself come off whatever samu gives him...

so when samu gives him one whole finger, _all the way in_ , he’s been so sensitive for so long from edging and taunting, the wanting and the emptiness and the waiting, that all it takes is a few slicksliding strokes, one brush in the right place, and he buckles, untouched cock spasming, dribbling cum, a miserable puddle for samu to shove him down into.

(as he finally shoves his way in, atsumu imagines, but he doesn’t.)

(not this time; should’ve fucked his own fingers if he wanted to be full.)

but none of this’ll stop him from asking again, next time, always hoping osamu will give it to him for real, because even if he doesn’t, even if this is all he gets, it’s still better than anybody else.

(and later, when osamu rides him, strong thighs on either side of his own, hands around atsumu’s neck, he’ll look up into his twin’s smug stupid face and ask why he’s so fucking mean, and samu will give him a sharp little slap and remind him that it’s just the way he likes it.)


End file.
